


Bitter Victory

by Aoida_blue



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Blackmail, But also, Drug Addiction, Forced Prostitution, Hunger Games AU, M/M, Pretty Clothes, Torture, and ALL the troubling themes that entails
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2018-08-20 12:14:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8248466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aoida_blue/pseuds/Aoida_blue
Summary: Jason was the latest victor of the Hunger Games. Victor. Not a winner.
No one ever won the Hunger Games.





	1. Chapter 1

The party was riotous. Colours and noise and fireworks lighting off in the sky like the bang Megan had made when he’d fallen into the arena’s traps and-

Jason stumbled, drunk, but not drunk enough (never drunk enough), following a lady with pink hair across the hall. The guards watched him pass, eyes blank, and Jason wondered briefly where Roy had gone. Since his release from medical clinic, his mentor hadn’t been far from him, even with the whimsical gait of someone taking stims. How he was gone and Jason was alone but for the pink haired lady who looked back at him, smiling and clasping his hand and moving them faster.

“I don’t usually-“ Jason felt the clarify, because he didn’t know where they were going but he knew what it meant, to have a pretty lady drag him into darkened rooms, he also hoped it meant _to forget_ ,“I mean, I haven’t-“

Something in her eyes glinted when she looked back at him. Her pink lips curved into a pleased smile that she slanted at him like a private joke.

“I know.” She said, voice low.

Jason felt the flush rising from his neck.

“Right.”

Of course she knew, everything about him had been blasted across every screen on the capital as soon as he was announced as tribute. Now after the games, it was played back in Technicolor glory again. Every moment from his first stumbling interview to his last kill. _Virgin, only fucked in the head_ , probably was printed on his trading card.

Her fingers tightened on his.

“Its okay sweetie.” She told him, and the endearment made Jason wince, surely she wasn’t old enough to call him that, she looked about his age.

That said, with the modifications everyone loved in the capital-

She smiled back at him, dancing around on high heels to face him, taking his spare hand and pushing the door open behind her and dragging him with her. 

“All you need to do what I tell you, and President Dent won’t hurt a fly.” She smiled, like sugar wouldn’t melt in her mouth and for a moment Jason’s mouth tugged up in a nervous smile then-

He realised what she said.

“What.” Jason said shortly, freezing to the bone, she hadn’t-

“Your friends and families safety will be continued.” She repeated a little slower, more patronisingly, “As long as you do what I say.”

She gently released his hands, walking backwards further into the bedroom, twisting idly on her heels. Jason’s heart pounded hard in his chest, and he backed away without thinking, edging toward the door.

“President Dent said that should you hesitate.” The lady in pink said again as she turned and sat primly on the bed, “to inform you your mother is still only 4 months pregnant and so vulnerable. I know he likes to inform the new victors about their new jobs himself but after the _favour_ I gave him well...” 

Jason remembered his mother dimly, the swell of her belly, the look on his mother’s face when he was pulled away, when she clasped her stomach but didn’t move as he was thrust open the stage and into a million screens. 

His fists clenched. 

“You wouldn’t.” Jason said, and the words felt hard, he felt breathless like he’d been running.

“Correct.” The lady said with a smile that was cold, so cold, “ _I_ wouldn’t”

Jason glanced toward the door compulsively, but it wasn’t an idle threat. What was district 8 to the capital, what was a poor mother to the whim of the rich? Jason couldn’t-

“Strip.” The lady in pink said, voice full of command and eyes hungry as she plucked a cloche from the bedside table to reveal a plate full of sweet red cherries, when Jason paused, she smiled, said slower, harder, “ _strip._ ”

Jason hesitated a moment more, his mind leaping from options, exits, outs, before he thought of his mother, his mother and her big belly and-

His fingers found the first button on his shirt, then the second, then the third.

The pink lady smiled, sinking her teeth into the fruit. 

…

 

It was late. Or it was early, and Jason felt sick, sick and aching. He felt it like he was dirty through to his core, a slimy shamefulness that slunk with him as he stumbled through the building's opulence. He still felt the lipstick on his skin, and he rubbed hard against his cheek for the most recent stain, blind as he rubbed and rubbed.

He hit someone, jarring into them with his shoulder, and Jason stumbled back, blinking hard at the water in the corners of his eyes. A guard in white, a stern, unmoving face, stared at him, mouth curving into a sneer. 

“Sorry.” Jason said, dazed, “I was looking for-“

The guard moved. It was a blur of motion and pain broke across his cheek and Jason fell to the ground, sprawling out across the white marble. Iron filled his mouth and Jason pulled himself onto his knees compulsively, splattering vibrant red across the ground, like some kind of capitol painting.

“Don’t care.” The guard snapped, “Don’t talk to me.”

And he disappeared, moving off into the distance.

And once that would have made Jason mad, would have sparked a rage in him, made him jump up, haul that ungrateful bastard in and smack him back hard in the nose-

But the anger slipped around in circles around him, and Jason trembled on the ground, blood beside him and waxy lip marks all down his body and he was sore and-

“Ah. I wondered where you’d be.” A soft voice said beside him.

And Jason flinched, looking up and saw dark hair, bright blue eyes crinkled at the sides, a grimace of sympathy across an expressive face. It wasn’t a face Jason knew, but he recognised it. It was a face everyone in the capital recognised.

“Dick Grayson.” Jason said, a little slurred, blood still filling in his mouth.

“The one and only.” Dick said glibly, ducking to crouch on the floor and reaching out for Jason’s arm, he paused, “may I?”

Jason nodded and then Dick was pulling him up, a surprising amount of strength hidden under silky loose blue clothes, wrapping his arm around his broad shoulders and pulling them across the marble, twisting them toward a staircase Jason hadn’t seen, then up toward an elevator. Dick pressed the button and they waited, Jason listing side to side.

“Where’s Roy?” Jason asked, a spark of something in his chest, his voice sounding strange to his own ears. 

Because Dick… Dick shouldn’t have been Dick… Dick should have been Roy, his _mentor_ , and-

“He’s gone.” Was all Dick said.

Which made Jason think that whilst he was- whilst he was-… busy, Roy was getting high off his face. 

The elevator arrived with a ping, and Dick ushered them both in, and the sudden intense light was too much and Jason grimaced, his eyes flashing white spots. He stumbled on the spot but Dick’s grip was strong enough to withstand it. But when Jason’s vision returned, he wished suddenly that it hadn’t. While the elevator whisked them up, Jason saw his face reflected back at him each smooth gold surface wrapping around them.

Pink wax marks across his forehead, disappearing under his shirt, and blood – a smear of his across his unnaturally pink lips. Jason _couldn't-_ and looked down to the ground. He shot a sidelong glance at Dick’s carefully still face, controlled into indifference. He had to know what had happened to Jason, it wasn’t hard to guess, it was written bold across his face in neon pink.

And Dick… Dick had been a victor. Dick _was_ a victor. If anyone would, a victor would know what he had been told, the details of his ‘new job’. 

“I-“ Jason started, and it was a flicker of rage finally breathing to life in his chest, “Why didn’t anyone-“

“Not here.” Dick cut him off sharply.

The doors opened and Dick pulled them along faster, down a new set of corridors, Jason dimly remembered Roy showing him earlier. After a countless number, Dick opened one, and pushed them both inside, looked around the room sharply, seeing no one, he locked the door. 

That was good enough permission to speak, which was good because Jason couldn't control it as it erupted from him.

“Why didn’t anyone _tell_ me?” Jason hissed out, stumbling away from Dick, and he felt unhinged, the spark in his chest igniting into something hotter, blinder, “Why didn’t my _fucking_ mentor say hey, by the way, _President Dent can do whatever the fuck he likes with you now_.”

He was shaking, trembling, and when he spun back to Dick, it struck him cold in the chest. Dick stood, impassive and terribly, awfully, accepting as he watched Jason. He met Jason’s gaze easily, calmly and it was that _attitude_ , the easy understanding and the apathy of any passion that made Jason continue, raking in a hard breath. 

“Is this what is going to happen from here on out?” Jason demanded, and the words felt hot, only grew hotter in him when Dick didn’t react, “I’m expected to just be trotted out and presented like a… like a-.. and then if I don’t, my family will be…“

At that Dick finally smiled. Unlike the pink lady’s, Dick’s smile was hard worn, a sardonic tilt that bordered on bitter.

“Congratulations Jason Todd, you’ve won the Hunger Games.” Dick said, spread his arms out wide, mocking sarcasm thick enough to suffocate.

Jason stared until his eyes watered, until Dick sighed and steeped towards him, and started pushing him towards the bathroom. Jason felt useless anger churning inside of him blanketed by something _smothering,_ overwhelming him and when Jason was inside, his waxy smeared face staring at him from every mirror, he buckled. Like he'd done it before, Dick angled him toward the toilet in the nick of time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Learning the rules of the Capitol isn't easy.

Jason felt naked, standing in a too big room in clinging silks and far too many people around him. It was a meeting in the dresses of a party, a less formal wrap up of the events of the previous hunger games. It was a day for noting down what worked well, what didn’t. Canapés were served out on the lawn, and people in light clothes twisted and chittered around the giant screens.

Before Dick had left him in the early hours of the morning, he’d had warned him about this party. Jason understood why.

On every screen he could see them. Every person he’d competed against in the Games dying on every holo. From the skinny young kids from district twelve, to the trained ruthless gladiator from district three. Every single screen. One look to the left, and there Jason was blindly stabbing at the teen from two who’d killed the kids. He could look to the right and see his tentative ally falling into a viper pit, fingernails breaking. From every angle, blood reflected off all the gleaming silver plates. 

There was a brush of air at his sleeve, and Jason flinched. 

And Roy Harper stood by his side.

He looked awful, like the make-up team had given up him half way when they discovered what a task they were in for. His skin was pale, dark sagging circles clung under his eyes, and he looked skeletal thin. Suffering from another hang over, signs from a blissed out night whilst Jason had-

Jason had to clench his fists, had to look away, and breath out a tight breath.

“Smile.” Roy offered, and god, he still _sounded_ high, all floaty and disconnected, “Smile at the gore Jason.”

So Jason did smile, thin lipped and dangerous. Accidentally meeting the eyes of an anxious man with green to yellow hair who scampered away. 

“You can leave me the fuck alone.” Jason hissed out under his breath.

A lady with drinks passed and Jason snagged one. He checked the colour, and thank god, it was alcohol not that vomit inducing one, and chugged it.

Roy sighed, long and exasperated. He pressed his hand, clammy and utterly unwelcome onto the back of Jason’s neck, like they were old pals.

“What was I gonna tell you Jaybird?” Roy said, hand making an big uncoordinated gesture, “That hey, you won but you lost too? Yeah cause thats a one way trip to the gallows. And the Capitol can’t have that.”

There was a splash of motion behind him and Jason’s eyes caught on the television. It was one of his murders in the games, a Career who had her hands around Jason’s neck, and even now Jason could _feel_ it. Her strong hard fingers sinking into his throat, his chest heaving, empty lips gaping air and Jason _remembered_  how he'd reached out, fumbling for something, anything, fingers brushing a the stick on the arena floor and- 

Blood burst across the screen and Jason dropped the glass on a nearby table, fingers numb. He sucked in a tight breath. 

“You could have fucking warned me, I didn’t know what was going on, I-“ Jason cut himself off.

Some of the guests were watching them, made up dolls that talked in high voices stopping and glancing at him. Even more of a concern were a couple of the gaudy white guards around the perimeter who'd stopped to watch. One had her hand on her waist, right over her weapon and Jason cast his eyes away. He shoved his trembling hands into his pockets, hunched over his shoulders.

He couldn’t here-

“Well if you thought it was nothing more than a good roll, it’d be okay.” Roy offered, words slurring together. 

His vision came back, a second later, and his hand was aching. Roy was on the ground, split lip welling with blood. His eyes were wide and even more unfocused, back of his hand wiping over his chin smearing the blood in its wake.

And everyone was staring now. The party quiet now except for the last screams coming from the screens. 

And Jason couldn’t. 

Jason shook off his hand, and sent one more disgusted look down at Roy, and walked away. He shoved through the chittering gossips, and didn’t care,  he couldn’t care. He just wanted to get away, he just wanted to get _home_. 

The white rimmed guards did nothing to stop his desperate exit. Out of the corner of Jason's eye, he saw one whisper into a mic but Jason- he just-

He left the grounds, finding his way out into the polished Capitol streets.

The Capitol was a cesspool of wealth. Large spindly towers of glass reflecting down at him from every angle. Fake fountains bubbled and faker people giggling to each other around them. Some recognised him and waved at him, like he was their favoured pet. 

It was all too clean. Too manufactured. Too sugar sweet nice. Jason walked faster and faster, until he found himself running through the city. 

He couldn’t escape. Logically Jason knew that, but running was _freeing._ For a few moments in Jason’s head, with his feet hitting the pavement in long measured strides, he believed he could.

But his time ran out. 

An hour out from sunset, Jason slowed to a shuffle sort of run. His body had begun to ache, and it filled him with a dull familiar sort of relief. But that all faded when a large dark car pulled up beside him. Jason had enough time to stagger back a step as two men in white suits exited on quick feet. A gold invitation extended in on of their hands. 

“Jason Todd.” One said, and Jason's eyes flickered down to their weapons.

Each man had at least five weapons. Knives, stunners, and batons were the easiest to see.  

“Yeah?” Jason asked, his muscles tensed. 

“The President has a task for you.” Another said, "You have been blessed with his favour."

Blessed. He had been  _blessed_. Everything he'd been through over the last few days, the last month. He'd killed other teens, he'd had a bow tied around his neck and given as a gift and he'd had to try and smile through it all. 

“I don't want his blessing.” Jason spat, words like a whip.  
  
The men froze, staring at him, and Jason's heartbeat tripped in his chest.  All he could do was wait for them to move forward, to seize him, to drag him in and away... They were going to hurt him, Jason knew, but he’d already been so scarred through the games-

He shouldn’t have said that. It was  _stupid_ to say that. 

But the guards didn’t grab him.

They didn’t even touch him.

Their expressions didn't even shift. The man who'd extended the gold invitation, just tucked it away. Without a single word, the two men turned and got back into the car. Just as sudden as the car had appeared, it vanished.

That couldn’t have been it. Jason thought, watching the car drive away. It couldn’t be that easy. 

Jason’s chest twisted and maybe, that was all. Maybe they would leave him be now. 

He walked back, and it was dawn by the time he got back to glitzy prison cell. A fool's hope grew bigger in his chest.

 

…

 

No one came to him the next day, or the day after. His rooms were grave-silent. The halls rang with white noise. Every inch of the palatial suite he had was clean and still. Jason sat in his bed, surrounded by the plush covers and stared at the sky outside. 

His days were slow, unhurried drags of time. Silence wrapped in the slow movement of shadows across his floors. Feeling as empty as his room, Jason let thoughts wash through him. He thought of Dick, where he was. He thought of home, again and again. Home was the thought he shoved into his head when his thoughts wanted to linger back to the games. 

He could go, Jason thought with a surge of terrifying recklessness. No one had come since he'd refused the gold invitations. He could just slip away. Disappear from life here and head home. 

God. _Home._

He could see his mother again, see if she’d had the kid she’d been carrying. Hell, he give his stupid new wealth to her. Or he could share it around, and just drop it into the right pockets. He could feed his district with ease for at least a month of two. Maybe he'd invest in warm coats and share them around before winter struck. Then he could go further, leave the bounds of district 8, leave Panem.

God, to be _free_. 

It was a heady, dizzying desire. Jason stood, punch drunk and headed to the door, intending to leave, get and go and-

He opened the door and stopped.

Standing there with his hand raised to knock was Tom. 

“Jason!” Tom exclaimed, and grinned wide and happy to his bones, “Its so good to see you!” 

Tom was a whirlwind of movement, grabbing him and bundling him tight. Like Tom had used to when he was ten and Jason was five and in trouble again. He was home incarnate. Even down to his smell, a little of ash, of fires and chemicals they used to clean the floors and-

Tom pushed him back, holding Jason at arm’s length, and gave him a solid assessment. 

“I thought you be skinnier.” Tom told him with a pat, “But looks like they did their job after putting you through that horror.”

He was exactly like he’d been before Jason had been sucked into the Games. He had his pock marked skin and easy grin, even still dressed in his Choosing Ceremony best. Complete with pressed trousers and a shirt with only a few patches. He was plucked straight from Jason’s memory, right down to the flickered drops of dye on the side of his neck. 

Tom looked instantly wrong in the marble hallways of Jason’s apartments.

“What are you doing here?” Jason asked, voice breaking half way through, embarrassingly. 

Tom’s eyes crinkled a bit. Almost like he pitted him, Tom pulled him into his side. A big arm wrapped around Jason’s shoulder, and Tom all but dragged Jason into his room.

“So. I figured you need to see someone from home. Someone with sense. A person who is actually real unlike these fluffy balls of perfume, so I managed to sweet talk my way here.”

Yes, sure, Tom had always had a gift for that gab but sweet talking his way into the Capitol? No, Jason didn’t believe it. There were security systems here that Jason had never even dreamt of. 

So Tom couldn’t have gotten here with just his mouth.

Which meant-

Dread settled deep in Jason’s stomach. 

Jason grabbed Tom’s arm and hauled him to stop.

“No. Tom, we’ve got to get you out of here.” Jason said, dropped his voice low.

He didn’t know how, but they had to-

“Hey Jay, calm down.” Tom said, laughter a little uneasy as Jason pulled him toward the door. “I snuck on the back of the goods train _and_  I bribed the guard, no one-“

The savings of a pitiful district worker was nothing to the amount the guards made. Shit. 

Jason pulled him into the corridor, pulling Tom roughly towards him and slapping a hand on his mouth. His brain kicked up a gear with the burst of adrenaline in his veins and it was like he was back in the arena. It was life or death, and Jason felt alive for the first time in months.

He was going to get Tom out.

There were cameras everywhere that Jason had seen. But they all seemed more pointed to the centre of the corridors. So Jason pressed them to the sides, edging out along the path he’d walked two days ago. It wasn't foolproof but it was worth a shot. Tom fell thankfully silent, finally catching onto Jason’s cues.

When they reached the end of the corridor, Jason hesitated. The elevators were quick, but it was too risky, they could be locked in too easily, it was a kill box.

They went the stairs, and Jason sprinted down them. He had no idea of the cameras in the stairwell so they were going to have to be _fast_. Tom was painfully loud behind him, tripping to catch up.

“Jay, at worst they’ll ship me home." Tom whispered and Jason shook his head because he didn’t get it, of course he didn’t get it.

“Shh.” Jason ordered, in leu of a response.

Jason had only just got it.

They emerged from the stairwell into the wide glassy lobby and Jason skidded to a stop five steps into the room, Tom barging into his back.

The lobby overflowed with white guards, filling up every corner of the room. Jason startled back a step, pushing Tom back to the stairwell, but there were two guards behind them now, shutting the door with a distinctive click. No way out, no way through.

Jason’s heart skipped in his chest. His hands broke out in a sweat but he clung to Tom, keeping him bodily behind him so Jason was between him and the bulk of the guards at the lobby’s entrance.

“Hello Jason.”

And the cool voice’s owner slipped through the guards, stopping a distance from him. 

Oh. _Fuck_.

“President Dent.” Jason replied and not even Tom’s sharp breath behind him could distract Jason from the President’s mutilated face. “What do I owe the honour?”

He couldn’t look away the scars that warped on the President’s face. Some said they were from the uprising - a brave fool throwing acid on him. Some said they were from his mother who found out what he’d become and wanted to kill him herself. Some said they were from Dent himself, an act of insanity to show the world he was their nightmare in waiting. All Jason knew right then and there, that if he and Tom had any hope of surviving, it was pinning it on the hope that this man was not insane. 

The President smiled, half his mouth curving easily, the other half still in static gore.  
  
“I think you know why I’m here.” He said with a sigh, and lifted a coin from his pocket, twisting it along his fingers, “I'm here because you had to test it didn’t you Jason? You couldn’t just accept your duty and live in ridiculous wealth could you? 

Jason’s plan to remain calm went out the window.

“I _never_ wanted this.” Jason denied hot and shaking, pushing Tom further behind him, “I only wanted to live, and this, this is not-“

“Jas-“ Tom started behind him, voice tight. 

The President's hand stilled on his coin.

“So you want death?” He asked, mild like he was asking about Jason's health.

Jason took a breath, forced it out. The guns all the guards were carrying seemed to wink at him and Jason knew, in that moment, he was in more danger here than he'd ever been in the Games.

“I just want Tom taken home.” Jason said, his voice a trembling mess and because he knew he had to, added, " _Please_."

For a space in time there was nothing but the uneven edge of Tom’s breaths behind him rattling around the room. His friend sounded two breaths away from a panic attack, a reasonable action all things considered. Growing up in the districts, you didn't expect to ever see the President, in fact you prayed you didn't. But Jason didn't dare turn away from the President's mutilated face to calm him. Couldn't calm him even if he did, Jason felt the exact same fear deep in his chest.

“All things in life it comes with a cost.” The President eyed his coin contemplatively. “To send your little friend home you’ll have to gamble. If you call heads or tails correctly on this coin, I’ll send him home, if you don’t? Well...”

A coin toss. It came down to a fifty fifty chance. 

“I’m not-“ Jason started and stopped when Dent raised a delicate hand.

“That’s not your choice.” Dent said, voice a slow syrupy type of patronising, “Your choice is heads or tails.”

Jason sucked in an ugly breath.

“Fine. I will call for you." Dent decided, the coin sitting on his thumb in a second.

“No wait!" Jason said, fingers tight on Tom's wrist, "I call tails.” 

Dent smiled, and the coin flicked into the air.


	3. Chapter 3

When Jason woke, the world was just as wretched as it was when his eyes had slid shut. His room was a gaudy mess of colours, bright enough it made Jason reconsider opening his eyes. Silver glinted in every inch of the room, a blinding reflection of the high sun outside and Jason groaned. His windows were real, for once, and the sun was high, the light that spilled into his room only obstructed by an outline of shimmering blue-

His instincts kicked in sudden and fast. There was someone else in the room.

Jason flinched upright, heart hammering, preparing to-  
  
Preparing to what?  
  
Jason deserved nothing. _Was_ nothing.   
  
The adrenaline drained out of Jason’s body, and he relaxed back into the desolate roll of directionless anger.

Besides, it was only Dick.

Dick appeared from a blur of brilliant draping blues, his outfit shimmered silver whenever he shifted. The very faint pattern of scales on his tunic gave a call to the home Dick had long since vacated from. He sat, perched on the window sill, a hand dangling idly over his leg, the other tossing a brilliant pink and yellow peach in the air. He was the very picture of lazy wealth. 

“Ah sleeping beauty is awake.” Dick remarked idly, like he’d just noticed.

It was the first time Jason had seen Dick since he’d told Dent and his golden invitations no. It was the first time Jason had seen Dick since he’d turned that no into a yes yesterday.   
  
It wasn’t an accident. 

Nothing here was an accident here. 

“Awake, am I?” Jason asked, dry as a bone.

It was still a nightmare. 

Jason moved on autopilot, legs tangling in the sheets as he struggled out of bed, feet pressed into the plush ground. He blinked a couple of times, squinted at the glare from the wide windows and fake image of endless gardens beyond them. A lifetime ago Jason used to wake before the sun rose, but there was no point now. No point waking until he was told to. No point spending languishing awake hours more in his room.

Asleep, Tom might still be alive.

Dick smiled at him, still high on his golden perch, and Jason ignored him, turning attention to the black and red ensemble waiting for him on the chair. They were things that might have been pretty drabs of fabric in the districts, something that they called clothing in the Capitol. 

Clothes that had definitely not been there when he’d fallen bonelessly asleep a couple of hours ago. It hadn't been a natural sleep either and when Jason glanced to his beside table, his bottles were gone too. 

“Yep.” Dick hummed, taking a slurping bite into the peach, “You missed the whole parade of dressers. They wanted to wake you.”

_I stopped them_ remained unsaid.Jason blinked, unsettled. The fact that he didn’t even shift when the giggling crowd of dressers swept in… Sleeping through Dick’s entrance wasn’t that much of a surprise. He’d won his Hunger Games as the second youngest victor, famously light and fast, impossible to hear in the groaning oak forest arena. But Jason not hearing the chittering Capitol stylists? He'd drunken more than he wanted, or rather, more than he should. It was a loss of control, and he would have been dead in the Games if he'd been that stupid there.

_Wouldn't that have been better though?_ A stray thought asked him, lingering in his head like cancer.

Jason couldn't linger on it though. Because that opportunity had passed long ago, and Jason was here now. And he make do with what he had.

"Drinking is a one way street you know." Dick commented, a casual airy remark, like it meant nothing, "Once you go down it, its hard to go back."

"I know."  Jason snapped, because he did, he'd seen it enough back home. 

But he hadn't cared last night. Not after the Capitol's favoured had finished with him. Jason sucked in a tight breath at a new surge of guilt in his chest, surging up like the tide. If he'd done it sooner, Tom would still be alive. Still be his foolish self back at home. But Jason had learnt his lesson too late on that count, he couldn't afford to do that again.

Something yellow raced towards him and Jason’s hand moved too slow. It hit his chest and dropped into his hands. It was Dick’s peach, soft, subtle and smelling all kinds of delicious, Dick’s bite into the only imperfection. A manufactured perfect thing.

“Eat, shower, dress, smile…” Dick listed off, rolling onto his feet, and striding in graceful steps over to him, his eyes caught on something on Jason’s face.

Dick bent down in one smooth motion to rub something at Jason’s cheek. Jason flinched, before Dick made contact, but Dick waited for a moment as Jason stilled, eyes flickering. Then Dick moved in again, slower, his thumb rubbing at Jason’s face, sending Jason’s gut into knots at the oddly motherly gesture. After a moment, Dick removed his thumb, something strange skirting across his expression as he examined the thumb. 

“You still have glitter on your face.”

The comment wasn’t unkind but it wasn’t unthinking either, and Jason didn’t know what he meant by it. Was it pointing out that he knew that Jason had been sent on a Dent mission last night? Did he know _he_ was Jason’s reward for good behaviour? Or was he simply calling Jason a slob? The whole thing was frustrating. Jason didn’t understand the man at all. It was like he read a line further than Jason, saw things he missed and made quips about things that Jason could only grasp were quips by the way Dick’s voice lilted. 

Instead Jason went with the old fallback, a good offence is a good defence. He narrowed his eyes and swept Dick in a cool look. He smelled something about Dick that he hadn’t noticed before.

“And you still smell like ladies perfumes.” 

Dick smiled, like his own night activities didn’t disturb him, and swaggered, of course, it was the only word for it, passed him.

“Three friends, three very critical thinkers for Capitol.” Dick leant at the door, and lowered his tone, “they had to get their reward from our dear President.”

And the reward was Dick. Just like Jason was the lady’s last night reward. Pawns. No, it was worse than that. They were-

Doggie treats.

The anger twisted in Jason’s chest, and he saw the gold edging of another invitation poking out from the pile of clothes. 

“I bet they did.” Jason bit out, looking away hard.

Something in Dick’s expression flashed briefly as his eyes shot down to the invitation and back to Jason’s face, some emotion fire-bright, but gone in a heartbeat.

“Play nice Jason.” Dick said, and although his words were glib, they still carried a warning.

After what happened with Tom…

It wasn’t a warning Dick needed to give.

“Will do and you have fun.” Jason called back, steeped in irony, taking a bite of the peach.

Dick gave him a smile that was fake all over, “Always do. You should too.”

Peach juices ran down his chin, made his fingers sticky. It was too sweet, curdling on his tongue.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Dick was always striking, in a gut-punch visual sort of way that almost made Jason recoil every time he saw him. He wore his looks like a knife, like a weapon and Jason felt just as skewered as a Capitol saps when he saw him. Tonight Dick looked sheathed in darkness, a black garb so black it seemed to pierce the foyer's expensive glitter. The silver stitching on his coat glinted as he moved and the flash of his skin seemed like sin, inappropriate in all the best ways. But Jason's eyes caught on his face, on the blue-white dash high on his cheekbones, the colour of a lightening bolt, the colour of Dick's eyes. 

It was only that tiny detail that meant Jason’s gaze was in the right place to see Dick’s reaction to him. 

Dick’s eyes went wide, his mouth twitching hard like the beginnings of a scowl. Then before Jason had taken another step, his expression fell, morphing into a causal smile like he’d been doing it all evening. His hands went out behind him, gripping onto the rail he was leaning on.

But even that smile, that harmless little smile, seemed to be dangerous with the way Dick looked. 

“Jay.” Dick said, looking more and more causal the closer Jason got, “What brings you here?”

Jason halted at the railing beside Dick, skin goose-pimpling in the cool air. Every reflective surface in the foyer only demonstrated what he already knew. Whilst Dick looked dangerous tonight, Jason looked ridiculous. They'd donned him him gauze, black mesh dotted with spikes like dog’s collar that wrapped around his torso in a spiral and squeezed him into pants that clung to all the wrong places. 

There was only one upside to the outfit, and that was the fingerless gloves. They had reminded Jason of the gloves he used to wear when he’d worked in the factories, when he did the same dreary work as everyone else. It made him feel calmer, clearer. 

“Why do you think I’m here.” Jason said, dry as a bone, then with a sugary smile, “Other than my delightful urge to serve.”

If anything, the words made Dick frown. He shifted against the rail and glanced toward the doors. 

“So we are in this together are we? First time hey and its like this.” Dick said, and the question sounded absent, sounded frustrated and not at all directed at Jason. 

Which was great, really. Here Jason was, dressed up like a chew toy and Dick wasn’t even happy to see him. When he’d read the night’s invitation, when Jason had seen Dick's name... call Jason foolish but he thought having Dick along would be a silver lining. Apparently not. Jason’s life was still a never ending train wreck of disappointment.

“What don’t want to work with me Dick?” Jason asked, mocking as he could, a spur of nastiness in his words that he couldn’t help, didn’t want to help. “We could roll over and show them our bellies in tandem, won’t that be fun?”

Dick shot him a look that all irritation, his knuckles flashing white against the rail. Like maybe Jason had finally pushed too far. 

“What’s the name on your card?” Dick asked, neutral because he was clearly going the higher road even if his body language looked like he regretted it.

“Black Mask.” Jason said dryly, stretching his own hands in his gloves and laughed, “Sounds like a work order I used to get-“

Jason trailed off because Dick's entire body had tensed. Dick tensed like was prepared for a fight and not just a happy little tussle, like a Hunger Games Level, _gonna-fight-you-till-someone-dies_ tense. It was more familiar to Jason than anything else he'd seen in the Capitol and he couldn't help the way his foot slipped back, a defensive gesture. 

“What?” Jason asked, wary. 

Dick’s gaze turned to the doors, a far away sort of gaze like he wasn’t really looking at them, flicking from one side of the doors to the other. His jaw unclenched and twisted into the worst smile Jason had ever seen.

“He’s just an old friend of mine.” Dick said, off-handed and too easy. 

With the sort of contortions Dick’s face had been doing Jason doubted whether that would be the sort of friend he’d want. It was serious then, whatever it meant and Jason’s insides steeled. He moved, scooting closer to Dick along the rail, eyes up and scoping for cameras because he was wiser now, _smarter_. There was one in the north corner and Jason put his back to it and faced Dick, tilted his face down like he was looking at his gloves.

“Start talking.” Jason demanded low as he could, adrenaline picking up his body, “Is Black Mask some-“

Dick’s gaze caught suddenly over Jason’s shoulder, his face morphing into a pleasant smile. Violence dropped away from his posture like shedding a coat as Dick stretched his hands out wide and pushed past Jason, cutting him off before he could take a step toward the door. 

Jason kept still as Dick approached the couple that had just walked through the doors. With one look at the two, it was easy as pie to work out who was Black Mask. Jason had seen a lot of Capitol citizens now, knew them to be a literal people with their names but Jason hadn’t really expected Black Mask to actually _have_ a black mask. But Jason had been wrong about a lot of things in the past, and there he was, wrong again. He was a burly sort of man with a blackened skull mask for a face. The Black Mask's eyes were the only living thing in that ashy blackened head, and they locked onto Jason easily over Dick's shoulder. The edges of those reddened eyes crinkled. Like a smile.

A chill raced through Jason. This was not going to be one of his normal charm, chit-chat and then roll over gold invitation nights. 

“Maria!” Dick exclaimed warmly, dipping so to place a kiss on either cheek of the tiny woman that Jason had completely overlooked. “I am so pleased to see you again. You really must meet Jason.”

Dick all but twirled her past him and propelled her at Jason’s direction. A move that was ludicrous in its showiness, but made Maria laugh, high and delighted like a child. It was also a move, Jason couldn’t note with a twist of alarm, that kept Dick between the Black Mask and Jason. 

Maria didn’t need the encouragement. She eyed Jason up with a the same look Jason had seen staving people give a lump of bread. With a surprising grip, she pulled Jason close, making him bend over to her height, and grinned at him.

“Roman, its great to see you still doing so well.” Dick continued speaking, voice dropping as he moved around Black Mask, angling them that Jason couldn’t see his lips. “Last I heard of you, you were involved in that nasty-“

“You were most incredible in your Games.” Maria told him, drowning out the conversation Jason was trying to overhear. "I had thought you were dead when Yohn had you by the throat against that tree…”

She sighed suddenly, in a a strange almost infatuated manner, and it only got stranger when she fanned herself. _Ugh_. Jason realised. She was getting off on it. People in the Capitol were so sick.

“Yeah, that was fun.” Jason said dripping with sarcasm, daring a quick glance over at Dick again. “No lasting mental scars from that.”

Dick was talking, he had to be, but his voice had dropped down lower past Jason's hearing. As Jason watched he saw Black Mask straighten with a painful looking jerk. But Maria’s fingers were tight and Jason attention yanked back to her as she pulled him closer still. She was so close now her wine-and-honey breath brushed over his cheek.

“Oh sweetie, I would have loved it if President Dent had let me have you too." Maria sighed, voice careful like it was all a secret, “But he is so particular with who gets to have you. Its such a shame.”

“Maria.” Dick’s voice was close.

Maria startled, letting go Jason with a twitch, and spun to Dick with a smile as sweet as the sickening sugary treats they handed out at parties. Jason went back a step, needing the space, and found his gaze drawn over to Black Mask. 

He hadn’t followed Dick. Instead he still had to his back to them, in the same place Dick had left him. His hands clenched hard beside his pressed trousers.

Jason’s neck prickled. 

“Dick Darling.” Maria said, “Jason is quite a treat isn’t he?” 

Dick’s smile sat strangely on his face. There was an edge to him, something in the way he stood, the way he kept his eyes only on Maria and not on Jason, that made Jason feel a bolt of fear.  For once, the fear was not for himself.

“He is, isn’t he?” Dick agreed with the nonchalance of someone who paid no attention to their words, and then took up Maria’s hand in a flourish and kissed the back her hand. “I do apologise if I held you up Maria. Roman and I go way back.” 

Maria fluttered her eyelashes at him, "Thats a not a problem at all.”

But even Maria’s eyes left Dick as the Black Mask finally moved. He walked like a man distracted by his dark thoughts, those human like eyes sunken into a bitter glare that he directed at the ground. He halted outside their little circle, jaw tensing. He glanced up, eyes landing unerringly on Dick and his jaw tensed even harder. He was so tense that Jason was surprised he didn’t hear his teeth grinding from a good few feet away.

Dick, when Jason looked, had nothing on his face but a cool detachment. 

The Black Mask's gaze twisted, angled somewhere over Jason’s right shoulder.

“I’ve been called away.” Black Mask stated biting the words out, “I have to go.”

Then that was it. He left, walking out the door with a angry stride, letting them swing wildly at his departure. 

_Dick_. Jason's body all but vibrated. What had Dick _done_.

Because Dick had to have done something. Had leverage over Black Mask, had used it. For what? For _Jason_? Jason’s heart was in throat and Dick was still not looking at him. Dick watched as the Black Mask left, as dispassionately as he watched him approach them. There wasn't shock or surprise on Dick's face. If anything, he'd appeared almost… resigned. 

“Well, Jason.” Maria purred, stepping closer, Jason almost lashed out, forgetting for a moment that she was there. “Since he didn’t work out, you could always come with me and Dick-“

Dick stepped between them, nudging Jason back with a cool hand on his chest to make space. 

“Maria.” Dick said, a playful chiding, “Jason isn’t authorised for us. You’re gonna have to cope with just little old me.”

Maria’s mouth twisted as she sighed. 

“Oh very well. Then we must be off. I don’t want to miss the starting event, those young men have so much energy-“ Maria started.

Just as gracefully as before, Dick started to walk her away, her hand tucked into the nook of his elbow. Only once did he look back at Jason, and only when they reached the door. Just one hard look back, flickering to the elevator and then to Jason, a slight tilt in his head like he was telling Jason to _go_.

Instead Jason stayed. Waited till they'd disappeared from sight. His fingers twitching against his pants. 

What had Dick done. And _why_.


	5. Chapter 5

For three days, Jason was locked in his big sprawling golden cage. The only thing to enter or leave were avoxs who shied away the second Jason's eyes landed on them. There was nothing to do in his big empty space, no books, no holovid screen, no nothing. The only thing that Jason had left to him was his thoughts, and they were little comfort. Day in, day out, his thoughts twisted and contorted over each other, rushing back to the agonising wound of Tom's death over and over. It was his fault, Jason knew it was. It was his fault Tom was dead. It had been his actions refusing the president, that had led Tom into the Capitol. He may have well killed the boy himself. It was his fault, his fault...

But getting out of the encounter with Black Mask?

That hadn't been Jason. That had been _Dick_.  Maria could attest to it too. But even the cool factual logic did nothing to ease but Jason's fear of another knock on his door, another person from his old life on the other side. Another Tom.

He shouldn't have let Dick do it. Jason thought for the fiftieth time, fists curling uselessly on the ground. He should have stopped him. 

What reason did Dick did have to interfere like that? He'd lived here longer than Jason had, he should have known that there was going repercussions. Why, why why why why-

Jason blew out a breath, filled with a keen urge for a cigarette like the ones they smoked at home. Something to take the edge off. Maybe when they let him go on his victory tour-

_No_. Jason sat upright, eyes jolting wide. He should have already had his victory tour by now. That was the first thing that happened after all the 'welcome' parties in the Capitol. It had been at least six months now since Jason had finished his Games with not even a tour mention.

Which made _no sense._

Jason could remember year after year watching the Victory Tours on the factory floor screen. Remembered when it swung round to his district and everyone got a day off work to go stand in the cold courtyard. Hell, if he thought about it, he could even remember Dick's victory tour twelve years ago. Too young Dick Grayson standing on podium in front of the district, words falling like nonsense into the huddling crowd. Jason had been too young at the time to pay attention, but he had in recent years. Heard the disgruntled grumbling as Stephanie Brown talked about the Capitol's generosity. Seen the side-long looks as Roy Harper returned to them sagging half off the podium. Even last year, when Wally West talked a million miles an hour about nothing drowning out the crowd's low mutterings.

There had never been a victor who hadn't had a victory tour. Never one who just skipped it. It was tradition.

He was the first confined to the Capitol. 

Jason didn’t know what that meant.

The doors to his suites creaked open and Jason knew his time was up. He tensed, ready for whatever came next. Ready for another terrible time in the Capitol. 

Yet it wasn't any face from his past that greeted him. 

It was just two avox walked in carrying clothes. He knew them, not personally, but their faces. They had been the same avoxs that had been coming in twice a day with food for Jason, water and... well to check he hadn't killed himself in boredom. 

The avoxs walked over on near silent feet to his his wardrobe, his freshly laundered clothes in a pile between them as they started to work. Jason eyed them idly.

Citizens tended to treat avoxs like they were furniture, their eyes skirting over them in a room. Everything in the Capitol seemed to rely on them, but they were never acknowledged, the shadow in every room.  They would be privy to a fair amount of information Jason waged. Maybe they wouldn't be able to tell Jason what it meant that he never got his victory tour. But. That wasn’t the only mystery that he was stewing over. 

He pushed to his feet as they set about arranging his clothes in his wardrobe. Jason strolled, casual and loose over to them. The boy glanced up at him, eyes going wide when he saw Jason coming towards him. Ok, time to bring out the charm.  Jason tried to smile, aiming for a rakish look he'd seen Dick give before. But clearly Jason missed his mark because the boy recoiled, jostling the girl next to him.

Jason grimaced, yeah okay well. Looked like there was no helping it.

He moved in closer, on the off-chance his voice could slip undetected by any listening camera, and the boy shrunk a little tighter into the girl. As soon as Jason got close, he angled his head down and spoke low and fast.

“I’m not here to hurt you. I just need to ask something.” Jason glanced up, and the both avox’s were looking at him now, surprise clear in their face, and _really_ , how many people talked to them. “What do you know about Black Mask?”

Both avoxs straightened, then glanced at each other before returning very carefully to the wardrobe. Pointed. Jason couldn’t blame them.

“Please.” Jason said, voice dropping lower still, “I just need to know how much danger I am in.”

Which was mostly true. But Jason thought knew the stakes, he just wanted more information about this game that seemed playing around him. It was a dangerous game though.

The boy continued working, folding more clothes, but the girl gave Jason one long indescribable look. Then she nodded, a small tiny twitch of a nod. She made a face, an angry face that morphed into a big smile and mimed hitting herself, before she brought a finger up and traced over her throat. In a blink her act was over and she back working on the clothes, with only the boy’s white face staring at her the only sign that something had just happened.

Alright. Jason’s gut knotted. The Black Mask was a violent man, maybe he hit people for pleasure, maybe killed some people. It matched well with what Jason had suspected, given the incident a couple of days ago, the way Dick had  _reacted_. It might not have been punishment for Jason to be given to him, it might have been more of a reward to Black Mask. But then things had gotten… odd. Because Dick had been there. Because he had clearly known Black Mask, and had leverage against him. Leverage he had used for Jason. But for what purpose?

“And Dick Grayson?” Jason asked, before he could think better of it.

This time there was no hesitation from either of them. The boy brightened, smiling and touched three fingers to his lips before raising up his hand in a familiar salute. The girl nodded hard at him, grinning as well, and repeated the action. Jason knew that gesture, had seen it around his district, had done it himself in the games. It was a gesture of thanks, of unity, of understanding. 

But now that he thought about it, the first time he’d seen that gesture had been in Dick’s Games... 

Outside there was a clatter of steps, and Jason made himself move quickly to sit on the bed. He was inching to ask more but knowing that doing so risked the avoxs, there was only so much he could push. If he was lucky, they would come back again, and then Jason could push again. Maybe he could start finally understanding things, expecting things and not just reacting to them.

Five Capitol stylists all but flooded into his room, a new strange series of garments flaring in their hands. They took one look at him, and one cleared her throat. A tiny, obnoxious kind of sound like Jason’s attention could be anywhere but on them. With a small flourish, she presented him with a gold invitation.

Jason’s jaw tightened. 

“Oh goodie gum drops. I was getting bored!” Jason said, with as much fake enthusiasm as he could muster, relaxing back to his elbows with a smirk. “Black Mask is trying again?”

One of the ever-changing make-up artists looked at him, her gaze heavy and measured. Instead of answering him, she pushed the invitation into his hand. Jason rolled his eyes and opened it.

“Well its no fun if it all written down.” He told her dryly, glancing down. 

On the page was one name. No event, no details on what he expected, nothing. It was just a sheet of paper with a single name. Just... _Jerome_.

This was it, Jason realized, the thought an echoing bell in his head, this was the punishment for Black Mask.

With a deliberate careless edge, Jason tossed the invitation behind him and pressed to his feet, meeting the one of the stylists eyes. 

“Jerome.” He said, saying the word slowly, testing it, “What am doing with  _Jerome_  exactly?”

Behind the glittery shoulders of the Capitol dressers, the avoxs both stiffened at the name. Then with the same silent feet that they’d come in on, they’d left, the door whispering as it shut.

Another not great sign. Perfect.

The stylist looked away, mouth pursing as she reached forward to one of the buttons on Jason’s clothes. As soon as she touched it, Jason snapped his hand up, grabbing her wrist. Instantly, the others stepped back, eyes going wide on their plastic faces. To her credit the stylist just blinked for a moment, before meeting his gaze again. Her hand trembled in his.

“I can ask again.” Jason said, sweet as pie. 

“We don’t get told the details.” The dresser said finally, and she sounded nervous, words skittering together, “All I know is we have to get you down to the basement in ten minutes.” 

Jason eyed her for a moment more, suddenly unsettled in the way she met his gaze. Was it really him that had her scared? Or was it Jerome?

Well. This was getting more and more ominous. 

“Please.” Another said, reaching forward for his shirt. 

Jason nodded and released her. The stylists didn’t waste a chance. Off went his silky soft sleeping clothes, and on went the strange outfit had glanced at before. The red shirt and black leggings were padded, thick like armour with a strange design on the shirt. They tossed a dark black cape thrown around his shoulders, a surprisingly heavy weight that had Jason straightening.  Then, because the get-up wasn’t strange enough they gave him a mask. A thin silicon domino that pressed in around his eyes, as if his identity wasn’t blasted to all the world.

It was almost…

The outfit reminded Jason of the old stories, the fairytales…

“We are late by three minutes.” One stylist snapped, voice shaking.

They pushed him out in to the corridor, leaving Jason’s rooms open behind him and halted only at the elevator. By now the stylists were all but tittering around him, glancing at each other and their watches. 

What the hell was this punishment going to be?

Jason rubbed the side of his nose, irritated at everything for a moment. Would it have killed them just to let him know how he was going to be suffering before he started suffering? It was just a little human decency really. It wasn't like he could do anything to stop them. Jason sighed, letting his hand drop and found himself abruptly staring at Dick.

On the last stair that let down to his hallway, Dick stood frozen. Jason hadn’t seen him since the Black Mask thing, hadn’t been allowed to, had been locked behind the the door to his suites. Jason thought Dick’s had been too, but Dick looked more free than ever. Standing loose in the corridor, no Capitol stooges around, but he didn't look happy. Dick’s eyes were stuck on Jason’s ridiculous outfit, and there was a terrible kind of  _horror_ dawning on his face.

“Don’t be jealous now. I think I look rather dashing.” Jason said, landing on anything, anything to make that look disappear from Dick’s face. 

It did. But not because Jason was in any way hilarious but because his words had brought his stylists’ attention to Dick. Their flutters jerked to a stop and Dick’s expression flickered, his eyes snapping to the stylists before it blanked out entirely. In a breath, Dick started to move, a lazy sort of prowl that had the hairs on Jason’s neck rise. His mouth flattened. 

“I think I wore something like that once.” Dick said and he almost,  _almost_ , sounded angry, “But I survived that phase. You will too.” 

Jason’s eyes widened, because that could have been the most coded pep-talk he’d ever gotten in his life. If it had been that. 

The elevator doors pinged and his stylists all but shoved him in. They scampered back out, shooting side long looks to Dick and pressing the close button from the outside control. In the near-silence of the corridor, Jason could hear a stylist's nail crack.

Jason couldn’t look away from Dick.

“If it hadn’t been Black Mask, it was bound to be someone right?” Jason tried, because he  _had_  to. 

Dick had saved him Black Mask, for whatever reason, had used whatever leverage for Jason. Jason couldn’t ignore that. Regardless of anything that was going to happen to him, Dick had tried to help him. Suddenly that meant more than anything else left in Jason’s life. 

Jason smiled, crooked and grim, “They’re still trying to whip me into shape. Pity those Capitol moulds always seem to be too small for me.”

By then Dick had reached the elevator, stopping a careful distance away from the closing doors. The stylists gave him more room than they ever had Jason. But Jason's words didn't seem to have the right effect on Dick. His face had only tightened. 

Between them the elevators started to shut.

“Jason what makes you think any of this has anything to do with you?” Dick asked, and Jason was insane because he sounded  _sorry_  and-

_What_.

The doors slid shut, sealing Jason to his fate alone and Jason pushed down the sudden thrumming panic coming to life beneath his skin. No. No. He couldn’t think about Dick’s words. He didn’t have time.  He couldn’t deconstruct it. Not now.

He paced in the elevator, silence broken only by the near quiet whisper of the elevator rocking down levels and Jason’s breathes echoing. 

No. He needed to focus, to recenter. He didn’t know what he was dealing with. He had to push it all aside and focus on surviving on what happened next. He glanced down at his padded suit and kept his hysterical laugh between his teeth. 

_Why try to survive at all_ , a dark voice questioned in his head, sounding like hope, like an out.

“Tom.” Jason spat out, straightening himself, rolling back his shoulders and planting himself in the centre on the elevator, facing the doors. “Tom.”

The elevator doors opened.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jerome. 
> 
> He had another name, one Jason had heard a Capitol stooge whisper to another. The Joker. 
> 
> It didn’t matter. Under his yellowed thumb, to Jason he may have well been King.

His body was nothing more than a prison of pain, shaking and shuddering around him. Nails racked along every fibre in Jason’s body, dragging him back, back from the dark void. Every inch of waking hurt, his body lighting up in slow painful moments, and his mouth cracked open, taking a deep iron filled breath. 

"Come on Jason, that's it, come back." 

Dick. Dick was calling to him. Some wordless emotion warmed at his centre, humming to the very cold edges of him, enough to make Jason blink, blink again. Then Jason’s eyes focused, and the feeling spluttered out.

Dick wasn’t there. There was only red.

Blood. All around him. On him. Blood stuck to his eyelashes, clumping against his skin with every blink, casting the room ever redder, even darker. And there was already so much red. 

There was a crowbar on the ground. It was dark with Jason's blood, fresh red at the tip to older, orange-brown tinted rust running in messy lines up the handle.

_No_. Jason's head pounded with his rabbit heartbeat. _No no no_.

"I'm over here." _He_ sung.

Jerome. 

“Come on little birdie.” 

Rage swept over Jason and Jason _wanted_. Jason wanted with a visceral desire. Wanted to crack each joint in Jerome’s skeletal fingers. Wanted to bring that crowbar on his yellowed face. Wanted to bathe this room in Jerome's blood, rung from his sobbing body, one drop at time. 

The first step in that plan was getting up. Jason had to get up.

_ Get. Up. _

His wrists were jelly, shaking as he hauled himself up. For a few tenuous moments they shuddered like they wouldn’t hold, his elbows locking with the strain and everything a hairsbreadth away from buckling. But Jason got into his knees, steadied himself and sucked in a pained breath as his vision tunnelled forward and all Jason could see was Jerome.

“Goodie. I didn’t kill you.” Jerome smiled, yellow teeth catching the light.

Here Jerome was a king. His legs splayed wide, his head tilted as surveyed Jason with an offhanded care and a glass of red wine in his hand. There was the faintest of red sprays on his face, speckling over his lips. It didn’t stop Jerome draining the rest of his wine, throwing the glass to shatter against the wall. Jerome leant forward, eyes wide and eager.

“Look at you, clinging to life.” Jerome said, tone admiring, “its enough to make me think I haven’t been trying hard enough with you boyo.”

“You gave it a good go.” Jason said, having to spit the words out with a dribble of blood, a motion Jerome followed, licking his own lips, “But hey, failure suits you.”

He shouldn’t have run his mouth. It was stupid and foolish but Jason ached all over, and maybe it was the vain terrible hope that maybe Jerome might succeed in what he’d promised one dark night at the beginning. At the insult, Jerome raised a hand to his mouth, tapping his lips in an idle thought.

“Its such a shame that we have to wait to finish this. I’ve always hated foreplay.” Jerome cut through the words, an edge to his face as his eyes cut to the side for a flickering beat, “But our little meetings are pleasure and I’ve got business first. Such a shame.”

Despite his words Jerome walked towards him. A elegant bend down and up at the knees as he swung the crowbar from the ground, and he was walking closer, moving closer-

It wouldn’t take much for Jerome to swing that crowbar again, to have it hurtling toward Jason, whistling and flinging blood-

“Until next time.” Jerome promised, a gleeful promise, something wet pressing to his head and Jason shrunk blindly away.

Jerome’s laugher flooded the room, hacking like a dying cough, and it sunk straight through Jason, right into the marrow of his bones and resting there like a cancer. Jason clutched his hands over his ears, and curled in, waiting for the inevitable, body thrumming with the wait-

The soft snick of the door shutting sounded like boom in the silence and Jason’s eyes jammed open, and he hadn’t meant to shut them, hadn’t meant to-

But the room was empty now, Jerome was gone. The room was just a room, just a room flecked in his blood. Jerome was _gone_.

Jason felt the tremors rise from his chest, pressing outward, shaking every aching part of him. 

He had to get up. Jason knew it, he had to get out of here. He had to go, and get patched up again, because he had another invitation tonight. He had another meeting with Jerome. He had to-

Jason didn’t want to. 

He felt the tears prick at the corners of his eyes as the tremors worsened, clenching at his shoulders. Jason didn’t want to go. He was beaten, bleeding, he just, for once, he just wanted to be left alone, even left here, he didn’t care-

“Tom.” Jason hissed at himself, frustrated with himself, “Tom.”

The reminder was enough, was always enough, and Jason pushed himself up, legs shuddering under his weight and got to his feet. He felt unsteady, like his head wasn’t attached right to his body, like his centre of balance was in the wrong place or maybe Jerome had stolen that too. Jason stumbled, to the wall, braced his hands out wide, and swallowed down the bitter bile that licked at his throat. 

“Tom.” Jason repeated, a prayer.

It was slow and hard. Jason had to move like a crab, pressed against the wall, edging one foot in front of the other, one hand and then the next. Every step, every movementawoke a new injury, made Jason’s head impossibly more. But the time he reached the door, Jason’s head felt like it was ready to be spilt down the middle and the world was etched in white. 

His avoxs, _Dick’s_ avoxs, were waiting for him on the other side. They didn’t hesitate in reaching out to them, hands steading, expressions blank as they secured him between them. They guided him, one ragged step at time, away from blood.

“You guys are strong.” Jason slurred, pressing his eyes shut as they passed under a light, “I know I’ve lost weight, but come on, I’m like two of you. Huh. Maybe thats why there are two of you.” 

They made no reaction to Jason’s words. It wasn’t new though. They hadn’t made any effort to communicate with Jason since Jason’s first Jerome visit. No amounts of delirious threats, broken pleading or outright demands had worked with them. They just picked up him and dropped him off medical. No emotion but Jason’s between them. 

Maybe that meant something. Maybe it didn’t. 

“Now this time Nancy be nice to me.” Jason said as Medical swarmed bright and white around them, the avoxs pushed away.

The white clothed nurses took him with needles in his skin, liquids pressed to his mouth that would be forced down if Jason didn’t open his mouth. He was placed in between too sticky plastic bars, tightening around his hips as his ruined clothes were cut off. They pressed on his bruises, smoothed strange cold gel on his cuts and scraps, gel that heated up and sizzled against him. The larger wounds they stapled shut, and Jason hissed out, wordless. They bound his ribs, tight enough to snag the breath in Jason’s chest, and pressed another cup to his mouth. 

Jason hated it. Hated the feeling coming back his body, hated the pain dropping away, hated the way his thoughts went from pain-drunk to swimming in a cloud. Hated the way the capital could stitch the ruins of him back together after they’d torn him apart, whilst people in the districts suffered curable nothings.

Then, in perfect timing when Jason felt his body return to a very loose version of normal, the stylists rushed in.

They painted his body in a healthy tinge, drew on his eyes with dark kohl, lined his cheekbones with white shimmering dust. Worked on him until the man in the mirror was a stranger, hale and healthy and then wrapped and twisted a dark shimmering contraption around him. A flimsy excuse for clothing.

It wasn’t the strange suit with the R and the padding. 

Maybe, Jerome wanted something different.

Fuck him. Jason scowled hard at his reflection, he could face Jerome just as easily in this as he could in that damn weird suit. He felt stronger. His head clearer, his ribs held in place, and his eyesight was spotless again. Only a strange sort of ache remained, like he hurt everywhere but not enough in any one place.

“Is Jerome taking me out tonight?” Jason said, working his mouth, listening to the roughened scrape of his own voice in the room, “Thats new. I didn’t think he knew any other tricks.”

One of the makeup artists, a lady with a coil of teal hair, glanced at him, as if shocked their wounded doll could talk, then with a fast look at her companions she lent down, touching his chest with a careless hand.

“You aren’t seeing Jerome tonight nor will you see him for a while. Didn’t you read your invite card?” She said, voice low, scandalised that Jason hadn’t read his damned gold orders. 

He’d stopped reading them a while back. No point. It was nearly always Jerome’s name and the same god damn torture. And if it was an occasion that Jerome hadn’t been the one to request him? Well, the Capitol Citizens usually got off on the relief on Jason’s face, reading like it was some kind of awe Jason felt to be with them.

“I guess I missed that bit.” Jason said and didn’t put any effort into the lie, “What’s tonight?”

The lady’s mouth pursed, “Its a great honour, its the Champions Dinner.” 

Jason frowned, much to a stylist’s distain.

Because the Champions Dinner was the start of the next Hunger Games season. A chance for all the old victors to mingle, chat, get drunk off their faces and cause scandals that would be overlooked as Panem’s attention was drawn to the next batch of victims. Even now a select few Capitol citizens were probably making their way to the districts, getting ready to read the names of another group of doomed kids. 

There was no way that could have been a year. Sure, Jason hadn’t been paying attention, but at most it had been six months. 

Wait.

Had it only been six months?

He was going to be sick. 

Jason knew instantly, could feel it rising in his gut. This time there would be no keeping it down, Jason gripped the bar beside him and one of the medical drones took one look at him and blanched.

“No, not ruining my work.” She snapped and stabbed his neck with something.

The nausea vanished, leaving an ashy test in Jason’s mouth. And Jason felt a surge of anger at even his base reactions controlled-

“You’re lucky.” The make-up artist continued quietly, like she hadn’t witnessed Jason nearly vomiting with how lucky he was, “You get to see Stephanie Brown tonight. She’s my favourite, you know, I wanted to be her makeup advisor-“

She paused, a slow awkward moment as she looked down at Jason and Jason couldn’t help the ridiculous laugh that crept out his lips. Because she’d gotten him instead hadn’t she? Not that Jason blamed her. He'd bet Stephanie didn’t get special attention from Jerome that needed fixing every second day. 

“Victor Dick is en route.” One Capitol lackey said, and gestured at him, “We will be dropping off Victor Jason in the foyer.”

Dick. 

Jason hadn’t seen him since the corridor, since he’d looked at Jason’s Jerome outfit and said….

Once, after one of Jerome’s early sessions, Jason had managed to slip the avoxs and his room. He’d found Dick’s rooms, knocked. Knocked again. Eventually he’d slid down the door, blood trailing after an untreated wound. Dick hadn’t been there, or couldn’t answer so Jason had just sat there, bleeding into the carpet until the avoxs finally found him, the whole medical ward trailing after them angrily. 

After that Jason had only tried once more, a couple of days ago, when he was disorientated and his feet had lead them to Dick’s door. His feet retracing the memory of his first meeting of Dick. When Dick had been nothing more than a kind distant stranger with an idol’s face.

The foyer was empty for a moment when they arrived, Jason’s entourage dropping him off like a child at school and disappeared behind another series of doors. Jason took his first moment of solitude to breathe. He didn’t have long to wait though, two breaths later the doors dinged and Dick swept out. 

Again, _always_ , Jason wrestled with the emotions that pushed straight to Jason’s chest at the sight of him. He’d missed him, Jason knew, but he still didn’t know if it had been Dick he’d missed or just a familiar face. It was hard to distinguish the two, everything Jason thought of Dick was tangled in knots of trust and distrust.

But then Dick saw him, offered a slanted a smile, and Jason ached in an entirely new way.

Oh god, he’d missed _Dick._

He was wearing white and silver tonight, so bright he all but shone striding across the foyer floor. He had an intricate sort of white paint across his eyelids, but despite his frivolous outfit, despite his smile, Dick’s eyes was serious the moment he’d stepped out. He didn’t hide his open assessment of Jason, gauging every point of him before sweeping his gaze back up to Jason’s face.

“Long time. Again.” Dick said, stopping a careful distance apart, close, but not reaching close, “You appear to scrub up okay.” 

His makeup artists were good at their jobs and there was no cynicism in Dick’s voice that suggested anything but what Dick had said. Not that his tone meant anything. Dick could tell Jason that the sky was purple with the utmost sincerity.

Jason cocked a brow.

“You look terrible.” Jason replied easy enough, like Dick Grayson, Model of the Games could look anything but perfect, “I’m embarrassed to be seen with you.”

Dick’s grin brightened, easier than it ever had before and he moved forward, taking Jason’s elbow like he had with Maria, leading them to the dark car waiting outside. Jason flinched at the contact, a tiny little contraction, and Dick reacted in a blink, letting go and putting a solid step of space between them. 

“Excellent. Just the way I like it.” Dick said, polite nonsense as he swept around the car, slipping in the other door.

“I’m sure you do.” Jason answered, mouth tightening as he lowered himself in their dark car.

Jason’s ribs hurt with the curve in. The distant all-over ache localised rapidly into a single spasm of pain that cut right into the centre of him and Jason had catch the wince in his teeth, turning to window before Dick got in to hide his expression.

Dick didn’t notice. Or maybe didn’t want to acknowledge it to Jason and the car pulled away from their glass prison with a only a whisper of hum. 

In the silence between them, Jason pressed the pain down, ignored it with every fibre of his being, and risked a glance over at Dick. Dick was staring out his window, face angled like he was trying to see where they were going rather than a hiding tactic. There was the smallest of tilts to his lips, his fingers drumming on his thighs.

“Why are you so happy?” Jason asked, unable to help a small uncomfortable shift in the car.

Dick flicked him his ready smile.

“They aren’t bad people you know.” Dick said, a not-answer, and his brows dipped down, “No need to be nervous.”

Right the shifting. Jason forced himself to stop. 

Their car came to a stop, and Jason waited until Dick started to exit before he pushed his car door open, biting down on his lip to keep the pained hiss deep down. It was instinctive to look over at Dick once he was out, but Dick only had eyes for the twisting building before them. It was the closest thing to excitement Jason had ever seen from him and Jason felt something uncomfortable settle in his gut. Something wholly unrelated to his pain.

“This is going to be fine party of forced murderers.” Jason offered, tone sharper than he’d meant it.

Dick’s his mouth twisting like he’d bitten into something sour, eyes dragging over to Jason.

“Won’t kill you to keep an open mind.” Dick said, and then he was striding into the doors and into a wide open elevator that swallowed him like a silver mouth.

Jason followed a step behind, grimacing as he plucked a loose sleeve from sticking to the wrong part of his arm, and then crossed his arms loosely across his chest when he stopped beside Dick.

“Unfortunately that’s true.” Jason bit out.

Dick had caught that movement, and in the elevator he stared at Jason, a crease between his perfect brows. 

“Are you okay?” Dick asked, low, and his lips barely moving.

For cameras, for lip-readers. Jason just smiled hard and toothy, felt it fail to reach his eyes.

“I’m perfect in every way.” Blithe and loud, easy to hear and easy to lip-read.

Dick angled toward him, frown deepening as he appraised Jason again. Jason eyed him back as blandly as he manage, daring Dick to find anything in his stiff posture, in his own perfect make-up and tightly bound clothes.

Then Dick smiled thinly.

“Of course you are.” Dick said, dripping in insincerity and there was something tight about his face again, something Jason had put there and an unreasonable punch of guilt went straight through Jason. 

But it wasn’t his fault. None of this was Jason’s fault. Jason felt the anger rise, always at the surface, curled his shoulders in and-

The elevator doors clicked open, and both of their gazes snapped to the scene before them.

It was supposed to be glamorous, Jason knew. Supposed to be a the highest of high sort of dinners, the one the Capitol thought every child in the districts should aspire to be apart of. The one every child in the district knew they never wanted to be apart of, for what it had meant they had done. 

If Jason hadn’t become blindly accustomed to lush excessive parties, then the scene that exploded from the open elevator doors might have made him pause. As it was, he was only a half step behind Dick as they moved out into it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Check out this fabulous art by Pentapoda who aced the ridiculous Capitol garb!](https://pentapoda.tumblr.com/post/158134734978/fanart-for-bitter-victory-by-aoida-blue-a)


End file.
